


Little Wonders

by praisecastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, M/M, Oneshot, Romance, SPN - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform, castiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:02:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/praisecastiel/pseuds/praisecastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has fallen from heaven, but sometimes the little things in life outshine even the kingdom of God.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Wonders

**Author's Note:**

> A fluffy destiel oneshot/drabble.

The chipped alarm clock by the bed reads 3:06, and Castiel still isn’t asleep. Not yet. The air is thick with the relentless August heat that has taken up residence in the small motel room, no thanks to the broken air conditioner prattling away in the corner. Castiel gently nudges the sheets off of his shoulders to pool around the dip of his waist, careful not to wake Dean, even though he knows heaven could come crashing down around them and the hunter wouldn’t stir. He exhales and watches small goosebumps rise on the back of Dean’s neck. 

Smiling quietly in the dark, Castiel brings his hand out from under the pillow and ghosts it over the junction where Dean’s jaw meets his ear, the curve of his shoulder, pausing to rest it over the mark he left when he raised him from Hell. He carefully fits his hand over the scar tissue, feeling it hot and alive under his touch. Something stirs in him briefly, a warm, low fire that starts in his belly and spreads through his body like static. Castiel belatedly realizes it’s possessiveness and rubs his thumb thoughtfully over the raised skin for a moment before continuing his path down Dean’s body. His hand disappears under the sheets and he closes his eyes, feeling his way over the taut shoulder blade with three freckles in the shape of a triangle just beneath. He skims his fingertips over Dean’s side, feels the ribs lying just underneath that thrum with the enochian characters etched into them forever by Castiel’s hand. They sing to him, humming faintly of the wonders of creation and God’s love. 

Castiel has never felt closer to God than in that moment, with his hand cupping the warm skin of Dean Winchester. He is filled with the realization that this man with all his imperfections is the most beautiful creature that he has ever known. He knows why God loves humans with all his being, why he cast Lucifer from heaven for being too faithful to the seraphim and to no other. These people, full of conflict and idiocy and love, charging into life and making mistakes and messes and fools of each other, are works of art. They are born and they live and love and die, and they follow no singular being. They are free; and although freedom is often messy and dangerous, it gives life to so many wonders both big and small that Castiel is sure he will never tire of. 

Like the man that lies beside him in a creaky bed in a motel room in Iowa, for instance. He opens his eyes to see Dean shift beneath him and roll onto his back, murmuring in his sleep. Castiel all but purrs at the new expanse of skin and brings his hand from its spot on Dean’s hip up to his chest. He maps his way up to Dean’s clavicle and mindlessly traces it, smiling when Dean grumbles at the sensitive touch.  


“Mmm,” he mumbles, bringing a hand up to stop Castiel’s tickling and curling his fingers around the angel’s. They lay in comfortable silence, Castiel shifting closer to rest his head on Dean’s chest and Dean’s arm automatically sliding around his slim form, pulling him even closer. He leans down to press a kiss to the top of Castiel’s head, smiling when he sighs contentedly at the touch. Crickets chirp outside ceaselessly and the air conditioner rattles on, and the only thing Castiel hears is Dean’s slow breathing and the steady thump of his heart under his head. 

“Do you miss it?” Dean murmurs above him, carding his fingers languidly through Castiel’s hair. 

“Miss what?”

“Heaven.”

Castiel exhales slowly and traces patterns on Dean’s chest. He knows Dean doesn’t so much mean the place but its significance as the gathering place of all those fiercely loyal to God, and only God. He thinks about Anna and Uriel, back when there was no garrison like there is now and they would spend their days arguing over whether the shores of Greece or Puerto Rico had the finer sand, or who was the best poet in all of France’s past, present, and future. He thinks about Gabriel choosing to spend his days on Earth, and how he watched his brother leave and was left feeling inexplicably guilty and torn. He thinks about the apocalypse that never was, that ripped the skies in two and pitted his brothers and sisters against each other in the name of destiny and fate. 

“Sometimes,” he answers honestly, warming when Dean’s grip tightens around him. “There are things I miss, and things I do not.” A cool breeze floats in through the half-open window and Castiel catches the scent of grass and nighttime, and hears the distant crunch of tires over pavement. In heaven he was safe, but here he’s alive. “But I’ve found something here that is much more important to me.” He laces his fingers through Dean’s and gives a small squeeze. “I finally have a purpose—my own purpose.”

Dean brings their hands to his mouth and kisses the back of Castiel’s hand.

“Thank you,” he whispers settling back into the mattress, his angel tucked safe under his arm.

3:31 and Castiel still isn’t asleep. He thinks he’ll listen to Dean’s heart beating for just a little while longer.


End file.
